The Rocking Chairs
by KayEn78
Summary: John-Boy Walton gets a part-time job for Mrs. Rolland, only to discover that things aren't always as they seem.


The Rocking Chairs

(A _Waltons_ Fan Fiction Story)

By: Kristi N. Zanker

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognized characters, settings, etc. are the property of Lorimar Productions and Warner Bros. Television. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. I, in no way am associated with the owners, creators, or producers of _The__ Waltons_. No copyright infringement is intended.

The Rocking Chairs

"_In the early spring of 1936, I walked up and down the streets of Westham searching for a part-time job. The mill hadn't really picked up and my family needed money for bills. I ended up finding a job while sitting on a bench in a small park. Someone had left a day old newspaper and an ad for a delivery boy spoke to me. When I began this job, I didn't realize that things aren't always as they seem." _

The sunlight outside the Walton home was deceiving. It looked warm outside, but patches of snow still lingered on the ground telling everyone that winter was not quite over. John-Boy Walton sat at the table drinking a cup of coffee. At least the kitchen was warm, he thought, as he took another sip. His mother was baking cookies in the oven. While one batched baked, she sat at the table across from him rolling the dough into balls and placing them in rows on a cookie sheet.

"John-Boy, I hope you'll be able to have some of these before the day is through," she said, as she started a second row of cookies.

"Save some for me. I know the others will want them when they come home from school. I won't be home until later."

"I hope you will be here for supper."

John-Boy felt his stomach churn. He knew he should've told her when he received the news. But he hadn't. Now was the time. He gripped the coffee mug.

"I'll try Mama, but I got a part-time job last week as a delivery boy. It starts today after my last class. I know how hard it is for Daddy right now, not getting enough orders."

"What? A part-time job? What about your schoolwork?"

John-Boy sighed. He knew she was going to say that. He listened as she went on.

"Just don't let your schoolwork suffer…your education is important. I want you to graduate. It's not everyday a son of mine goes off to college."

"Don't you worry, Mama. I'll be fine."

He took the last drink of his coffee and set the cup on the table. Just then, his father and grandfather thundered into the house with the door slamming behind them. He saw his father rub his hands together to warm up. They both took off their coats and hung them up.

"Sure smells good in here, Livvy," said John, who planted a kiss on her cheek.

"Where's Esther?" asked Grandpa.

"She'll be down soon, she's finishing the dusting upstairs," Olivia replied. "John-Boy was telling me about his new job."

"Oh, he told me about that last week."

John-Boy still felt ashamed. He meant to tell his mother when he got the job, but he knew how she would react to it, saying how he shouldn't neglect his studies.

"You knew about this for a week? Why didn't you tell me?" asked Olivia.

"Well, I—" John-Boy began.

"You're a delivery boy, right? For a Mrs. Rolland?" said John.

"Yes, Daddy."

"I really wished you would've told me," replied Olivia.

"He's telling you now, Liv."

"What kind of delivery boy? Newspapers? Why I delivered—," Grandpa began.

"Hush up, Old Man!" Grandma said as she came down the stairs. "I want to hear about John-Boy's job. You've told how you delivered papers a hundred times." She sat next to her husband of fifty years. He planted a kiss on her forehead, as she gently pushed him away.

"No, Grandpa, just groceries," said John-Boy.

"John-Boy, from now on when something like this happens, I want you to tell me."

"Mama, please, I'm nearly twenty years old. This isn't like the time I went to the marathon dance. It's just a job. I'll be home as close to suppertime as I can."

"I don't care. I just don't want you working too hard. You need to do well in school."

He had had enough. The first class started in an hour and it took about thirty to forty minutes to get to Boatwright University in Westham, which was twenty-eight miles away.

"Okay, Mama. But I have to go now; class starts in an hour."

John-Boy went up to his room. As he climbed the staircase, he heard his father tell his mother that he was grown up now. His father and him both knew why she acted that way. He was the first born, and she couldn't let go, not yet. She wanted to hold onto him just a little while longer.

As he placed his books and papers into his briefcase, he thought about the job. He wondered how often he would be delivering groceries to this Mrs. Rolland. He figured she was an older lady, probably more like his grandmother's age and lived alone. She lived just outside of Westham and had a telephone. He knew that because he had phoned her about the job from Ike's General Merchandise. She at least sounded nice. This afternoon he would find out for sure.

He almost couldn't find the house. John-Boy drove the tan 1929 Model A Ford up the one street that Mrs. Rolland said she lived closest to. When he reached the dead-end, there wasn't anywhere to turn around. A field stretched out in front of him. He then saw a dirt path and figured that would be a good place to turn the other way. He careened down the path to discover a house hidden by a forest of trees. He figured this was where Mrs. Rolland lived. It was painted a light blue, but was in dire need of a touch up. A black shutter on the top floor hung halfway off its hinge and swung back and forth to the wind. A lonely swing hung limp in front yard beneath a large oak tree. The house had a wraparound porch similar to the one where he and his family sat for hours at a time taking in the peaceful atmosphere that Waltons Mountain gave from day to day. One of the differences was that this area offered a sprawling field and he couldn't help noticed that there were no chairs of any kind on the porch. Melting snow littered the lawn.

John-Boy parked his car toward the end of the driveway. When he walked up the creaking wooden steps to the house, he had to be mindful of stray patches of ice that clung to the porch. He opened the screen door and knocked loudly on the heavy door.

It was silent for a moment. Then, he heard footsteps coming toward him. He heard someone opening the door and soon a short, stocky woman stood in front of him. From what he could tell, she didn't look as old as his grandmother. Her hair was a salt and pepper color, and she had sparkling blue eyes. She wore silver wire-rimmed glasses which made her look like an aging school teacher.

"You must be John Walton Jr.—the boy on the phone about the job. Come in, come in," she said, as she opened the door wider.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Ma'am," John-Boy said, as he shook her hand.

"Don't call me Ma'am. You may call me Mrs. Rolland. That's what everyone calls me."

"All right, Mrs. Rolland," John-Boy smiled.

"We'll head into the kitchen and I'll tell you more about your job."

The floor creaked and groaned as they walked past the living room and into the kitchen. At a glimpse, John-Boy saw a small radio across from the couch and two chairs. A piano stood near the back wall.

As they walked into the kitchen, he noticed that Mrs. Rolland had a modern white gas stove, which was very different from the wood stove his mother used. A gleaming white refrigerator hummed near the back door of the house. They sat down at the kitchen table. Another entranceway led into a dining room.

"Would you like something to drink?" Mrs. Rolland asked.

"Sure, I'll have a glass of water."

He eyed the plate of cookies sitting at the center of the table. She noticed him glancing at it and pushed the plate toward him. He took two chocolate chip cookies. His mother didn't need to save any cookies for him now.

"How about I give you a glass of milk instead? Milk always goes good with cookies."

"Yes, it does," he laughed. "Sure, I'll have a glass."

"I've told you about getting the groceries I need twice a week," she said as she opened the cupboard to get a glass.

"Yes, Ma'am—I mean, Mrs. Rolland, you did tell me."

"You are to arrive here at four-thirty on Tuesdays and Thursdays. The stores around here close at six, so I assume that you will be on time." She opened the refrigerator door and took out a bottle of milk. John-Boy noticed several other filled bottles on the shelf.

_She must drink a lot of milk_, he thought.

The refrigerator door slammed shut as she came back to the table and poured him a glass. She then turned around and put the bottle back on the shelf in the refrigerator. She sure likes to be clean, he thought. He remembered how spotless the living room looked as he walked past it coming in.

"Yes, I plan to be on time. I attend Boatwright University in town here. It's only a short distance from your house." He didn't mention about nearly getting lost.

"I see. What are you studying?"

"Journalism."

"I was a home economics teacher for thirty years. I retired from teaching after my husband died. I still work, but it's out of the home here."

John-Boy was sure he heard a door slam. He wondered if anyone else lived in this house. He was sure he heard someone giggling.

"Excuse me for a minute," said Mrs. Rolland. "I must attend to something upstairs."

"Oh, that's fine."

John-Boy watched as she went out of the kitchen and down the hallway. He bit into one of the cookies. He watched as she climbed the stairs to where the noise had been. He could hear Mrs. Rolland telling someone that a guest was in the house and they needed to be quiet. A door closed again and soon he heard her footsteps coming down the stairs and toward the kitchen. He finished the first cookie and took a drink of his milk.

"Now, where were we? Ah, yes, are you a handyman? Can you fix things?"

"Yes, I can." He knew at that moment that she was going to ask him to help repair the house.

"As you can see, the outside of this house is in desperate need of repair. In the two years since my husband passed away, there has been no one around to tend to it. This was the first ad I put in the paper."

"I'll be happy to do whatever needs fixing. If you want extra help, I have two brothers who could—"

"Oh no, you will do just fine," she said interrupting him. "I don't like too many people around."

"Oh." He didn't know what else to say.

"You may come to the house on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, after your classes. When do you get out of class on those days?"

"I get out at one in the afternoon," he took a bite of the other cookie.

"Why that's perfect! You may arrive at two."

"That'll be just fine."

"Why don't you tell me a little about yourself?"

John-Boy told her about his classes and how he enjoyed writing so much. He did not mention that he had been working on a novel. He told her about his large family.

After hearing that, Mrs. Rolland mentioned that she and her husband never had children. This was odd to John-Boy since he had heard the giggling earlier. Perhaps a relative was staying with her. They talked for about an hour and she then told John-Boy to be here tomorrow at four-thirty. It was a Tuesday, after all. He told her he'd be there.

John-Boy finished the grocery shopping by five-thirty, after retrieving the list at Mrs. Rollan's an hour ago. He carried two bags as he made his way into the kitchen. Mrs. Rolland gave him permission to come into the house on his own when he had groceries or had something to repair.

"Just set them on the table and I'll put everything away," she said, as he pushed the door shut with his shoulder.

He did as he was told and let Mrs. Rolland know he had one more bag in the car. As he was walking toward the steps of the front porch, with the third bag in his arms, he was sure he saw a face in the upstairs window. A girl's face peeked behind the curtain. When the two made eye contact, the face quickly disappeared. It wasn't too windy today, but seeing that face made John-Boy shiver. It seemed so eerie to him. Why didn't she come downstairs? If he hadn't heard the giggling or seen the face, he would have thought Mrs. Rolland lived alone. He was sure she didn't.

On Wednesday, Mrs. Rolland told John-Boy to begin painting the house. She gave him cans of paint that were stacked in the shed, informing him that her husband was going to paint it but he wasn't able to. He didn't ask how her husband had died. She then pointed to the ladder hanging on the wall, and soon left as he went over and took the ladder off of the hooks. He walked to the front of the house and stood the ladder up on the left side where the paint was really needed. He went back to the shed to get a can of paint.

While balancing himself on the ladder, he stood still as he took the brush and ran it across the wooden siding. A pretty shade of light blue began to appear as he moved his way down the house. He was almost finished painting the one side, when he noticed one of the windows on the second floor. He peeked inside and saw two beds, a nightstand, a dresser that stood beneath the other window, and a small closet sat across from where he was standing. He felt guilty looking in the window, but there was something mysterious about Mrs. Rolland and the house. It was as if she wasn't telling him something.

Just then, he heard a car come into the driveway. A black Ford sedan parked next to John-Boy's car. As he stood on the ladder, he watched the man get out of his car. The man walked over to the passenger side and took out a large black bag. _He's a doctor,_ John-Boy thought. As the man walked into the house, John-Boy quickly thought of Mrs. Rolland. _Maybe she fell!_ He felt panicked as he climbed down the ladder. He ran into the house and heard muffles coming from upstairs. He knew he shouldn't, but he began to climb the steps. He heard a girl crying. For all he knew, it might've been the same face he saw in the window yesterday.

Then, he heard another girl's voice in a room further down the hallway, but couldn't make out what they were saying. The doctor's voice was soothing as he tended to the one girl. He could hear Mrs. Rolland too. He quietly went downstairs and then called out, "Mrs. Rolland!"

Seconds later, a door shut and he saw her coming down the stairs.

"Is everything all right? I saw the doctor. I thought you might've fallen or something."

"Oh no, don't you worry now. Everything is fine."

_Was she sure? The girl was crying and possibly very sick_, John-Boy thought.

"Well, I just got nervous when the doctor arrived, that's all. It's almost never good news when the doctor visits," he said.

"I know," she said.

When asked about his job at home, John-Boy told everyone that he delivers groceries for a lady named Mrs. Rolland and fixes up her house. His father wanted to know how much she paid him. He told him that she paid him fifty cents a day. Every little bit helped. John also wondered where she got the money and he said he didn't know. Olivia asked if she was nice and he said she was. His siblings wanted to know what the house looked like and if she was rich. He said she wasn't that rich, but had nice kitchen appliances. He did not tell anyone about the face in the window or the doctor's visit.

The next week when John-Boy arrived at Mrs. Rolland's, the doctor was already there. He let himself into the house and walked into the kitchen. He heard noises upstairs again. He went into the kitchen to find the grocery list sitting on the table. Yesterday, he had finished painting the top front of the house. He took the list off of the table and headed out the door.

When John-Boy came back with the groceries, the doctor's car was still there. Mrs. Rolland was nowhere to be found in the kitchen. He set the bags of groceries on the table and waited. Ten minutes went by and nothing. He thought he heard a girl scream upstairs, but he wasn't sure. He took out the cold items and placed them in the refrigerator. He sat down again and waited for her.

Just then, a girl, who looked to be a few years younger than his sister Erin, came into the kitchen. She startled John-Boy.

The girl looked very thin in her gray feed-sack dress; it appeared to be a size too big. Her stringy brown hair lay damp and mattered down her back, as if she had just taken a bath and washed her hair. Still, there was something odd about her. He thought he knew what it was, but thinking about it would be upsetting. The dark haired girl quietly made her way to the refrigerator and took out an apple. She looked over at him. It was the same face he saw in the window.

"Hello," he said.

She ran out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Perhaps she was mute. But that's what didn't bother him. He was sure he saw her stomach and it was swollen, just a little bit. He felt sick to his had to know what went on around here. John-Boy had an idea, but he wasn't so sure.

Quietly, he made his way upstairs. The hallway stood empty. John-Boy pressed his ear against the door and listened. All he could hear were muffled voices. He slowly put his hand on the knob, turned it and opened the door quietly. No one from the inside of the room heard him. The door was open about an inch and a half, but he had seen enough. He saw a pool of blood on the bed. His hand began to shake and he closed the door as silently as he could. Then he quickly made his way down the stairs and outside of the house.

There was a word for what Mrs. Rolland did. But John-Boy didn't know what it was. He just knew it was illegal. He did his best to keep a straight face at supper. When asked if something was bothering him, all he could do was shake his head. When supper was over John-Boy paced his room for what seemed like hours. Finally, he made up his mind. He was going to go to Mrs. Rolland's tomorrow and explain that he could not work for her anymore. It was too dangerous and thinking about what went on behind those doors upstairs made him queasy.

The next day, he came in the house as he had done for two weeks. This would be the last time he entered. He saw her sitting in the kitchen.

"Mrs. Rolland, I need to talk to you," he said. "I can't work for you anymore."

"Why not?"

"Well, I—I'm ashamed that I saw something yesterday that I shouldn't have. It was wrong of me, but I also know what kind of...business you have."

"I'm afraid you're wrong. It's not what you think, John. I didn't want to tell you because I was afraid you wouldn't work for me."

"The doctor was here a lot."

"I know, he comes often. But I assure you, it isn't what you think. I could not live with myself if it was—_that_."

"I don't know about this job anymore, Mrs. Rolland," he voice shook.

"Perhaps it's time for me to explain. You see, I run a home for girls—unwed mothers. They come here to have their babies and I give them up for adoption."

John-Boy was stunned. So, it wasn't illegal after all. He had many questions swarming in his mind, but was too embarrassed to ask them. Mrs. Rolland spoke.

"As you know, after my husband died of a heart attack, I retired from teaching. But I still wanted to do something. So, I opened my home to these girls. Some are as young as thirteen years old. Their stories are horrifying. Other girls are older with similar ones. Some were just in the wrong place, with a boy they thought they loved, well you know what happens. These girls aren't bad. Others felt so guilty as to what happened. Their families send them away to me and I look after them until their baby comes. When the baby is near, the doctor is summoned and we both deliver it together in the upstairs room. The other day, that's where I was. It was sad, the girl's baby died. Born too early."

"Is she okay," he asked, his voice catching a little.

"Yes, she's fine. Her family is picking her up today."

"It's good that her family will take her back."

"This time will be put behind them. And they are to forget it ever happened and move on with their lives. They will finish school, find someone who will really love them, get married and then have children."

"Mrs. Rolland, I saw a little of what went on, but I thought—"

"No, it certainly wasn't. There are people who do, but not me or that doctor. It's against God's will. I try to teach these girls about the Lord and how He will forgive them. You hear stories all the time about loose girls, but these girls aren't like that. I won't tell you the stories they bring with them. It's heartbreaking."

John-Boy didn't know what to say, so he just listened.

"I still teach these girls about home economics. When they first arrive, I teach them how to cook, sew, and clean. I teach them a little about caring for a baby because I know one day they will have one again. The only thing is, these girls don't go out. When they are in their eighth and ninth months, they stay in their rooms a lot of the time. They're so ashamed to come out. But I remind them that no one is around to judge them, so they can come out and roam about the house all they like. I would like for them to go outside, even if it for a little bit."

He told Mrs. Rolland how his father operated a saw mill. He explained the real reason as to why he chose this job. Orders were slow and money was hard to come by. He was going to ask him if he could make these girls rocking chairs for their rooms and the front porch.

"That sounds like a wonderful idea, John! I'm sure the girls would like that."

"From what you told me, I wish I could take these girls to my house and meet my brothers and sisters, but I know that isn't possible. It would be nice to get them outside and fresh air." He went on and told her about Waltons Mountain and how beautiful it was.

"I'll ask my father about the chairs right away," he said before he left.

John-Boy was nervous. It was a great idea to build the rocking chairs; however, he knew he had to tell the truth about Mrs. Rolland. He was more nervous as to what his mother would say, being a devout Baptist. He ended up telling his father in the saw mill. He told him everything and agreed to make the rocking chairs for the girls. Now, it was time to tell his mother.

They went into the house and found her sitting in the living room. Everyone was listening to the radio.

"Mama, could I talk to you outside at the saw mill?"

"John-Boy, is everything all right?"

"Yes, but there's something I need to tell you."

She followed them out to the saw mill and he retold everything to her. He watched her face as he explained about Mrs. Rolland and the girls. At first, it looked as though she was angry. He was so sure that she was thinking that God was punishing these girls for being bad and going all the way before they were married. He went on and said that a lot of these girls had terrible stories. He thought it was awful how they were forced to leave their homes and go someplace strange to have their baby. And then they were forced to forget what went on at the house. After explaining that to her, his mother's face softened. He could tell she felt for these girls as well and agreed for them to build the rocking chairs.

Nearly a week later, John-Boy drove the pickup truck to Mrs. Rolland's house on a Saturday for a special delivery. Six rocking chairs were placed on the front porch. Several days after that, when he delivered the next six, he saw three girls sitting in them rocking back and forth, rubbing their stomachs. As he carried each rocking chair into the house to be placed in the bedrooms or in the living room, the girls smiled at him and said thank you. He smiled back at them. He still felt sad that these girls couldn't go any further than the front porch, but a part of him felt glad that they were finally outside, getting fresh air and not trapped inside.

"_For the next twenty-five years, Mrs. Rolland asked us for more rocking chairs. She always received new girls in her home, to teach, to love. One day, the request for orders stopped. We soon discovered that Mrs. Rolland had passed away from natural causes. My family and I felt thankful for her, to give those girls what she could in a time when people were judged for their actions. We still felt sad though, for those girls were told to forget about their child, but somehow I just knew they would not. And their babies would grow up not knowing their real mothers. _

_Recently, I went back to that house, and gazed at the front porch where they used to sit with their babies before they came into this world. The rocking chairs stood silent now, but the memory of that time lives on." _

Copyright © 2005 by Kristi N. Zanker


End file.
